Smoking Is Bad For You!
by FlirtyFlapper
Summary: John stumbles his way into a coffee shop and meets the rather peculiar barista who seems to always smell of smoke. As a medical student John feels it is his responsibility to educate him on the health hazards. Unfortunately, the barista has a legitimate reason to smell like smoke and it doesn't affect his health (Smauglock)
1. Chapter 1

Someone recommended a prompt (OTP at a coffeeshop, one smells like smoke and the other reprimands them, turns out he's a dragon) that I couldn't resist and it fit this crossover so well that I had to do it! I do believe this is my first Sherlock fanfic so hopefully it isn't a complete flop

Read. Rate. Review. Be jolly and enjoy cinnamon rolls!

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John Watson was on his last leg, pun not intended, when he walked into the off campus coffee shop. He almost never came in here because it was just a little too far out of the way but he was on his way home from a night out with Greg because "For god's sake John you practically live in the library!" which had led to a night at the pub and then a club. John didn't go to clubs. He had nothing against them but they didn't seem like a good place to meet someone. At least, not someone worth sharing a meal with. Sharing a one night stand with however was more apt. He needed something to get him through his morning lecture and it might as well be a cup of steaming bean juice.

He felt like he had been run over by a truck and picked apart by a pack of dogs. He didn't look much better. His blonde hair was getting a bit shaggy and curling at the ends. He would need to cut it soon. After finals. His black and white jumper, the one Greg commended for not looking like something his grandfather owned, was rumpled. He had had to claw one girls hands off it. She had then thrown up a little close to his brown boots. He would clean them after his lecture. They were his good pair and he was pretty sure he could smell the lingering spray of vomit coming from them. He just hoped his jeans were safe from the nights activities.

The bell rang softly as he entered The Dragon's Horde. He felt like that was a silly name for a coffee shop but he couldn't bring himself to criticize them at the ungodly hour because the smell of coffee beans wrapped around him in teasing tendrils. It was delightfully warm inside, a lovely contrast to the chill of the early December air. His jacket had done very little to keep him warm. It mattered very little at this point. The cold air only served to keep him alert a little while longer. The heat inside the shop made him feel just a little too cozy. He felt like settling into one of the leather chairs and resting for a moment.

He removed his coat as he looked around. It was definitely unusual. Most of the walls were covered in dark gray wallpaper, the rest were exposed bricks painted black. There was a fire place that was crackling and flourishes of gold and jewel tones all around. It should have felt cold and dank but the space felt like a cove to hide in. John felt as though he had stumbled upon another world. It was all too tempting to stay. However he would get his coffee and hurry to the lecture.

He stepped up to counter. There was no service. He looked around for a moment. He saw no movement in the back nor heard anything to indicate the presence of another. He rang the small bell on the counter. His fingers resting on the richly colored wood slab after a short sharp ding. He drummer his fingers against the surface while he waited. He looked around again. Someone had to be working? Maybe they stepped outside for a smoke break. He certainly hoped not. As a medical student he couldn't abide smoking. He couldn't understand people who smoked themselves into an early grave. He shuddered at the mental image of blackened lungs.

"Hello?"

"I'm very much aware that you're here. I heard you come in." A deep gravelly voice echoed from the back corner.

He eyed the shape back of an antique sofa wrapped in crushed red velvet. He spotted two feet hanging over the edge. They were covered in exquisite patent black shoes. Business must be good but slow at this hour if he was sleeping on the job. The male who spoke had to be quite tall to cover the length of the sofa and still be dangling off the end. John thought he saw a few black curls from the other end but he couldn't tell.

"Right. Sorry. Uhm, if it wouldn't be too much trouble,"

"It is." The voice rumbled.

"Sorry?" He asked taken aback.

"It is too much trouble. No one comes in this early. You're interrupting." The voice from the sofa was level and low.

"Interrupting what exactly?"

"I hardly see how that's any of your business."

"Right. Well, coffee is your business and I'm in desperate need of a cup. It can be old and cold for all I care." He said grumpily. Usually he would have apologized and left but damn it, he needed something to get him through this morning and the other coffee shop was on the other side of the campus. If he was going all the way over there he would just go home and put the kettle on.

"Cold?" He sounded offended. John watched as the voice became a figure. The figure swung up in a fluid movement. John stared the his back. The black curls that covered his head were plentiful and thick. His shoulders were wide but they didn't look especially muscular. The man stood and John was astounded by his height. He was at least half a foot taller than him. The man stretched languidly. Dear lord, he probably could have gone to the back and searched for the coffee himself at this point. The figure turned to face him. His eyes were a cool shade of blue and were as icy as his glare. His face was almost too harsh and sharp to be considered handsome but that was the word that came to mind. "I don't do cold." The man hissed.

John swallowed slowly and squared his shoulders. "Well, you're not doing hot very well right now either."

Something in the strangers eyes flickered. His gaze was no longer chilling. In fact, John felt his cheeks flood with heat under the scrutiny. He had to look away. What an intimidating presence. He leaned against the counter, suddenly feeling his weight was too much for his leg to bear. He cursed his leg for the millionth time. He could usually manage. He had even moved past using a cane thanks to physical therapy but the damn injury came back to bite him in the ass with lingering pain at every opportunity.

"Something wrong with your leg?" the stranger asked crossing the room to go behind the counter.

"Old injury. It acts up from time to time."

The stranger eyed him with shrink worthy scrutiny. John felt as if he were naked on a slab for examination. He felt exposed and not in an erotic way. Though, he wouldn't mind getting naked with this guy. He immediately scolded himself for his thoughts. He always felt sexualizing complete strangers. It was one of the many reasons why he felt weird going out with Greg. Lestrade was hellbent on enjoying his youth and apparently that meant a string of one night stands. John had tried it a few times and felt it lacking. Sure, he liked to look but it was more appreciation. He felt like a shmuck trying to fuck someone whose name he could barely recall. Call him sentimental but he liked to know what name he was saying and that it was right.

"Psychosomatic."

Perturbed by the comment retorted bitterly "I hardly see how that's any of your business." He was getting rather grumpy while waiting for a simple cup of coffee.

The man was finally behind the counter and John wanted to scoff. He most definitely didn't belong there. He was wearing a fine dark suit and the stiff collar of his button up was parted. He looked like he should be drinking champagne and prowling for innocents to con. Instead he was waiting for John to place an order.

"Are you going to stare at me all day or are you going to order?" he asked with a lazy drawl.

"Coming from the one who took his sweet time getting behind the counter." John said with a condescending smile.

A smirk played at the corner of the strangers mouth. John would have found it quite attractive if he weren't ready to snap this guys neck. The stranger arched a brow. John waited for an apology but it was clear he wasn't going to get one. What a pompous prick, he thought as he pursed his lips before accepting that he might as place his order because at this point he was going to be pushing it.

"Just a black coffee."

The barista blinked lazily. "Any sweetener?"

"No. No sweetener. Just a black coffee as fast as you possibly can. I'm in a bit of a hurry." John said shifting his weight because he was getting restless.

The barista didn't reply and John was waiting to be billed. He looked around anxiously. Was he supposed to pay after? How unusual. He walked over to a painting of a sea of golden flowers. It was quite mesmerizing. He tilted his head as he looked at it. He had never been a great art connoisseur but he admired the brush strokes and how each one looked like a tiny coin. It felt apt for the shop. He quite liked this piece. There were others similar to this. All shades of gold or the colors of fine gems. The dark walls seemed to make them shine a little brighter.

"You're coffee is done." He heard behind him. Right behind him. He felt the heat of the man's breath on the back of his neck and he shivered.

He turned around and was mere inches apart from the taller man. He swallowed and muttered a small thank you. It was quite but he was pleased that he hadn't stuttered the words out. He was uncomfortable with how flustered he was. He swallowed and licked his lips. He looked at the chest in front of him. The man was now wearing a red apron with a shiny black name tag. Sherlock was engraved. Peculiar. He wanted to find out how it felt on his tongue.

"You didn't bill me, Sherlock."

Sherlock's cocked a brow and looked mildly surprised but also a tad pleased. John thought he smelled smoke but it was faint. He didn't think it was coming from Sherlock. He hoped not. He didn't have time to tell him about the hazards of cigarettes and the internal damage they caused. That was for a later time.

"No charge." He pressed the coffee into John's hand and their hands brushed. There was a rush of heat, a jolt of electricity that made John's stomach felt paper rustle under his fingers as he clamped them around the cup. He looked down to see a pastry bag. He looked up at Sherlock with the intent of voicing his curiosity but when he met the taller man's eyes the words died on his lips.

He nodded his head and gave a flat smile. It was the best he could manage. He turned to leave. He pushed open the door and was met with an arctic breeze. He shivered and pulled his coffee closer. He looked over his shoulder. Sherlock was leaning his hip casually against the counter and watching him intently. He winked and John blushed and bit back a smile.

He would definitely be back.

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I'm pretty happy with how it turned out. I think Molly is going to work at The Dragon's Horde as well. I haven't really figure out what I'm going to do with some of the other characters yet. I'm more focused on progressing John and Sherlock so they can get... intimate ahem.

Hope you enjoyed. Let me know what you think in the reviews! More to come as soon as possible :)


	2. Chapter 2

John had been hoping to get back to the Dragon's Horde very soon after his first visit. He had found his interaction with the barista unusual and captivating. He was very much interested in collecting more moments between them. Unfortunately, he barely had time to set the kettle in his home let alone go to the other side of the campus to chat and have a biscuit.

Currently he was staring at a massive textbook trying to complete an assignment that was due the next morning but he couldn't focus. He had been reading the same paragraph for nearly a half hour. He ran his hands through his shaggy hair and sighed. "Blast," he said before rubbing his tired eyes. Enough was enough. He stood quickly and grabbed his jacket. He was going for a walk. He couldn't take being inside anymore. He was going mad.

When he stepped outside and a cold breeze blew through him he momentarily reconsidered his plans. It wasn't really walking weather but anything was better than being stuck inside his tiny room reading a textbook that made his head throb. He set to walking in a general direction. It didn't much matter which way he went as he had no destination in mind. He just needed to clear his head a bit. He passed familiar trees and buildings and the occasional student who looked just as stressed as he felt. Lunatics, the lot of them. He questioned his career path on a daily basis, usually after a particularly grueling lecture.

Chances were he would end up working in a small clinic on the elderly and children with overbearing parents who insisted it was more than a cold. He didn't mind so much really. It wasn't like he was looking to save the world one invalid at a time. He just wanted to help people but at the moment he needed help.

His walk had been longer than he expected. He had only intended to step out for a bit of fresh air but somehow he had ended up on the front steps of a unique but familiar coffee shop. It would be a shame to have come so far and not get something, would it not?

He opened the thick wooden door and was overcome by the smell of beans and wood. He felt himself relax in the dark shop. There was something to very appealing about the blend of stone and wood with the dark colors and the pops of jewel tones. He couldn't help but feel at ease. He was immediately grateful for the heat inside the shop. Even with his white cable knit sweater and plaid under his jacket he had still been chilled.

He walked to the counter without artifice. He figured this interaction couldn't possibly go worse than their last. After all, the last time they had spoken he had been snippy if not a bit short. He could hardly be blamed. Sherlock's service had been terrible at first and he had had a long night. Now he had had a long day but was feeling much more amiable. He would almost go as far as saying he was feeling friendly. Almost.

When he got to the counter he was greeted not by a tall, pale man with heavy curling locks but by a rather petite woman with mousy hair and a cheerful smile. It was hard to hide his disappointment. She greeted him and he gave a tight smile in return. Her name tag read Molly and her apron had several little pins around her identifying plate. She was exactly the kind of person he would have never placed here but to each their own. She asked for his order with waiting eyes. How could she could so be chipper?

"I'll have a large latte with an extra shot." He ordered while he perused the menu. To be honest he was tempted to order a cup of tea, which he desperately wanted but it felt strange in a coffee shop.

"Not a large black coffee, no sugar?" He heard behind him.

He turned to see Sherlock leisurely sitting in a chair reading a book. He looked all to at home. His dark suit seemed to blend right into the dark atmosphere. His eyes and skin were a stark contrast. John found himself wondering if he had ever seen eyes so blue, so clear and pure. He couldn't recall an instance. Sherlock rose from a dark leather chair and strode towards him. His long legs made easy strides and he stood near John in a matter of seconds.

"Figured I'd try something new." He said as he tucked his hands in the pockets at the front of his jeans. Sherlock's eyes followed the movement with intimidating scrutiny. John felt as though every minute detail was being analized. He wasn't sure how he felt about it yet.

"And if you don't like it?" He quirked a brow in question.

"I suppose that's my own problem." John said with a mild shrug.

Sherlock's face was impassive and he stepped around John towards the counter. He went behind the counter and passed through a swinging door that read simply "Keep Out." John quickly ascertained that it was for employees only.

"Burning the midnight oil?" Molly asked after a long bit of silence.

"Med student. The midnight has been burned out." He said with sigh.

"I can relate. That is, I'm a medical student as well." She said in a rush. John could not tell if perhaps she was shy or if she was just a bit too awkward for her own good. Either way, he couldn't fault her. She was perfectly nice.

"It's something else, yeah?" He asked as she went to a machine, one he presumed was making his beverage. She nodded and smiled before the machine began whirring loudly. He found the sound strangely soothing. He didn't have a chance to speak to her again because Sherlock had come back out and was rounding the counter with a small white bag, folded at at the top. He eyed John in an assessing way that made the blond's mouth dry. "What is it?"

"You seem particularly fond of jumpers." He said with a kind of easy confidence that most men only dreamed of possessing.

"You've only seen me in jumpers twice. You can't just assume that I have some sort of preference for them."

"No?" He asked with a smirk.

"No." John said firmly. God, he'd like to kiss that smirk right off his stupidly gorgeous face.

"There are stray pieces of fabric on your jacket. At least 6 of them are a type of wool. Either you work part time in a yarnery or you most commonly wear knits. The latter is far more likely as the bits of wool have not collected elsewhere."

"Thats…"

"Preposterous?"

"Amazing." John said in wonder. How could someone possibly observe something so small and come to such a conclusion without doubt?

Sherlock didn't reply. Rather he simply collected the cup from Molly and handed him the cup and the white bag. John let their hands brush again. He was determined to see if the sensation was the first as the first time. It was just as electric and gratifying. He felt heat travel through his body as though he had absorbed beams of sunlight and they radiated from his chest out to his limbs. He smiled shyly and thanked him. He got a waft of smoke and frowned.

"You really shouldn't smoke. I can't even begin to express how bad it is for your health. You should be clever enough to know better." He said shaking his head. He found Sherlock very appealing but smokers made him barmy. He thanked Sherlock again for the coffee and the bag and nodded to Molly who smiled in a friendly manner before going back to wiping down a machine.

He really hoped Sherlock did the smart thing and quit smoking soon. Preferably soon enough that if they kissed he wouldn't take like stale tobacco and ash. The walk back to his room was cold and long as he was contemplating the enchanting barista. Next time he went in he would impress upon Sherlock the determinants of smoking. It was his responsibility after all. One day he would be a doctor, saving the world one fool barista at a time.


	3. Chapter 3

This story is probably the most interesting one that I have going on at the moment but it's also the one I have to spend the most time on so the chapters frequently get delayed. Sorry!

Read. Rate. Review. Be jolly and enjoy sugar cookies with coffee!

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It was 2 weeks before John made it back to the The Dragon's Horde. He was walking back to his place from yet another of Lestrade's invites. This time he was accompanied by Greg. Greg was mumbling about his boyfriend. Or at least, that's what John thought he was. Greg made it clear that they hadn't labelled it. John only got tidbits of information because Greg only got bits of information. All he knew was that his name was Mycroft and that he had a government job. Also, that he liked cake. A strange string of facts but Greg seemed enamored.

"We hardly ever see each other. He comes and he goes. It's driving me crazy!" Greg said with an aggressive thrust of his hands.

John simply nodded. Greg wasn't looking for advice. He just needed to vent. He needed a cup of coffee and probably a tumble in bed. Not that Greg was prone to talk about his sexual escapades but from what he gathered Mycroft had been holding out on him. John didn't want to pry but he was beginning to think that maybe Greg hadn't been forward enough. He had a tendency to lean back and watch things unfold before leaping into action. Usually it wasn't an issue... however if their label-less relationship was going to go anywhere, namely the bedroom, then Greg might want to be a bit more forward.

"Have you tried, I don't know, maybe telling him that you want to spend more time together?" John said as he stuffed his hands in coat pockets.

"Well, I hinted at it. I can't just say it. We haven't reached that point."

"Greg, you've known him for nearly 5 months. Any rational person would say that that's enough time."

Greg flushed and stammered. "Yes but like I said... he comes and he goes. Oh god... what if there are more?"

John stopped walking and stared at his friend. "More what?"

"You know, more like me." Lestrade sighed. "He does travel a lot. He could have one in every country."

John stared at him in wonder. "Have you gone mad? Stop being so melodramatic. He hasn't given you any indication of there being anyone else." He hesitated. "Has he?"

"No." He said it rather quickly. He repeated it more firmly. "No. But we never said it was exclusive either."

John shook his head. He needed caffeine if he was going to rationalize his friend's thoughts. He spotted the hanging wooden sign that indicated his new favorite coffee shop. He nodded his head towards the door to tell Greg he was going in. He could choose to follow or not but knowing him as he did the latter was more likely. He opened the door and inhaled deeply, trying to absorb the smell. He was urged inside by his friend. He looked around for Sherlock but saw only Molly at the counter.

"Back again?" She asked with a friendly smile.

"And this time I brought company."

Her eyes went wide and her mouth began to form the word oh but nothing came out. She scrambled to collect her features. She swallowed and her mouth twitched a few times as she fought to regain her smile. "Welcome." She said with a tight smile but her voice was flat. She eyed the door to the kitchen and bit her lip. "What can I get you boys?"

John thought her voice had lowered as though she didn't want to be heard. He ordered his usual and told Greg to order whatever. After Greg ordered a latte John pulled out his wallet. Molly looked torn but after a moment she seemed to have decided. He paid for both coffees and they sat at a table near the counter while they waited.

"I didn't know you liked coffee." Greg mused.

"I don't usually." John gave a quick tight smile before letting his eyes wander. He knew it was silly to assume Sherlock would be here everyday but he was a bit disappointed that he wasn't here. Greg had begun rambling about Mycroft again and he nodded politely but he couldn't bring himself to listen wholeheartedly. He was eyeing the fire place. It looked warm and he wanted to go sit by it. He said so and Greg simply shook his head but they moved to the armchairs by the hearth. John felt more relaxed already.

He hadn't wanted to go the party last night. He always left completely spent and ready for a scalding shower. He had only gone because Greg hated going alone, even though most of his other friends went too. Greg complained that as great as Anderson and Donovan were they always ended up making out somewhere or picking a fight with someone. So yet again, John had gotten dragged out to a party. He was again disappointed by the lack of food there. When it was time to go he was all too happy.

"What are you going to do?" He looked Greg in the eye. "About Mycroft."

"I'd like to tell him that I think the whole situation is... frustrating." He said hesitantly with a slow dip of his head to the side. "I don't know what I should say."

"Why won't you just shag me into oblivion," He said emphatically. "Or something along those lines?"

Greg was unable to reply because their coffees were being sat down on the table between their chairs and the hand was most definitely not Molly's. John looked over his shoulder with wide eyes. He swallowed. Sherlock was looking at him with cool eyes but there seemed to be a fire behind them. his mouth opened and closed a few times as he struggled to explain himself. He cleared his throat as his face filled with blood. How embarrassing!

"Sherlock." Was all that came out.

"Your coffee." He said politely. He looked over at Greg with a dismissive gaze. Greg thanked him softly and went after the drink without a care for the atmosphere.

"Lestrade, meet Sherlock. Sherlock, this is my friend Lestrade." He introduced awkwardly.

Sherlock eyed him up and down and turned on his heel to walk away. John excused himself and went after him. He called out to him softly. It was still too early for other customers but he didn't want Greg or Molly to think something was wrong. Sherlock turned and pinned him with a stare. John swallowed and shifted on his feet.

"Sorry about that. I don't want you to get the wrong idea. That is, he's having a bit of trouble and I was just trying to help him." He said lamely.

"No need to apologize." His deep voice rumbled over John and he shivered and stood up a bit straighter. Sherlock stepped a bit closer. "How very," he paused, "fortunate for him to have a friend like you."

John swallowed roughly and licked his lips. "Not really." He could smell him again and there was that lingering smell of smoke. "Sherlock, really. You have to know how bad it for you to smoke. It leads to increased risk of heart attacks and strokes, not to mention yellowing of your teeth and impotence." He scolded in a hurry.

"Do my teeth look yellow to you?" He said slowly. John shook his head slowly. Sherlock stepped closer. "And I assure you, impotence has never been a problem for me."

John was ashamed of the noise he made. It was a high pitched whine that never left the bedroom. He flushed and looked away. He could feel Sherlock's breath on his ear and he shivered.

"I do believe your coffee is getting cold." Sherlock said before stepping back. John cleared his throat and gave a small, shy smile. He was about to go back his seat and collect his wits when an arm reached over his shoulder. Sherlock's hand was dangling a white pastry bag. John chuckled and looked over his shoulder to an aloof Sherlock. He smiled and said thank you before taking the bag.

After Greg had pestered him about what he talked to Sherlock about that had left him in such a good mood they left. When he was finally in the safety of his home he opened the bag. He had every intention of eating something sweet, brushing his teeth and sleeping for the rest of eternity. Every bite of his pastry made him crave something more. He would have to find his way back to the Dragon's Horde soon. After all, Sherlock was still smoking and as a soon to be doctor it was his duty to get him to stop.

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Hope you enjoyed! more to come soon. Let me know what you think in the reviews.


	4. Chapter 4

I'm honestly so fucking happy with how this chapter turned out! I'm trying to bring some Bilbo out in John without him being too out of character because Sherlock had some great Smaug vibes going at the moment.

Read. Rate. Review. Be jolly and enjoy cinnamon vanilla nut coffee!

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The next time that John went to the Dragon's Horde was because Lestrade had presented him with an interesting news article. Apparently, Sherlock was _the_ Sherlock Holmes, a renowned consulting detective. He had no idea what that meant. But as Greg with interested in becoming an inspector he was quite enthusiastic about it. "You don't understand, John. He's famous. I knew he looked familiar." John couldn't care less. But he figured it was a good conversation topic. So he decided to go out of his way for another cup of coffee. It had absolutely nothing to do with his fathomless blue eyes or the way heat radiated from his body or the way his voice rolled over John like smoke. Speaking of smoke...he may have a few pamphlets on the health risks of smoking and also some recommended options for quitting.

He walked into the shop quickly. It was getting colder and he hadn't thought to grab a heavier jacket. He welcomed the warmth once again. Molly was working the counter again and greeted him with a friendly smile, her brown eyes glistening in the lights. She held up a finger to him and went into the kitchen. He assumed she was getting Sherlock. And he was right. A moment later, Sherlock walked through the swinging door. He was once again in a fine suit. He approached John with lazy ease. John couldn't seem to get used to the way he carried himself; his confidence was nearly overbearing.

"Sherlock." He greeted before tucking his hands into the pockets of his trousers. He had an unbearable urge to touch the taller man.

"You've yet to give me your name." His voice was low and raspy, as though he hadn't spoken a word all day.

"Oh," John said in surprised. That was terribly awkward. "John. John Watson." He gave an awkward smile.

"A pleasure." The way the word rolled off his tongue had the blond's toes curling.

"And you're Sherlock Holmes. I have to say I'm rather surprised at you being famous."

Sherlock didn't look surprised or flattered. He simply looked impassive. John assumed it was his natural state. "Hardly," was all Sherlock said before going behind the counter once again. He appeared to be waiting for John to order. He couldn't think of anything. He stared at the menu behind the counter. It wasn't chalkboard as he was used to seeing. If he had to describe it, it looked more like stone that had been etched into. He noted that there were no iced drinks on the menu. Strange indeed. Perhaps they had taken the weather into consideration.

"I don't know what to order," he confessed.

"The latte wasn't to your taste and you only ordered black coffee because you were in a hurry," Sherlock said matter-of-factly, his gaze traveling over John slowly as he spoke, "do you have a preference?" John was pretty sure that what he had meant was 'do you know anything about coffee at all?' He didn't. He was a tea drinker at heart. It just felt wrong to order tea in a coffee shop.

"Not really. Coffee isn't usually my thing." He shrugged slightly.

Sherlock sighed and pointed towards the chairs near the hearth. John gave him a wary look but proceeded anyway. He felt as though he should be miffed at the dismissal. He removed his jacket and looked at his jumper. Luckily, it was stain free. He couldn't explain it but all of his jumpers seemed to get stained by some magical force. Probably from the tarts he snacked on while studying. It didn't stop him from wearing them. He sat down and picked up the paper that rested on a gold plated side table. Nothing terribly interesting. He flipped through it anyway. It was a good distraction. He had gotten a few pages in when Sherlock sat across from him. John's gaze was drawn to the long legs crossed in front of him. He could smell cinnamon and chocolate. He looked at the table between them. There was a large green mug topped with a massive swirl of whipped cream with cinnamon and chocolate shavings. It looked fantastic. He reached forward and picked it up. He smiled at Sherlock and said a quiet thank you before taking a hesitant sip.

It wasn't what he was expecting at all. It was hot chocolate with a hint of coffee at the edges. It was warm and slightly sweet. He was enjoying it more than he thought he would. "It's really good. Thank you again."

"You're wearing a sweater again."

"Right. Well... I may favor them a bit." He rubbed the back of his head a bit bashfully.

Sherlock raised a brow. John had been foolish to deny it but in his defense it wasn't all he wore. He took another sip from the mug and sat it on the table between them. When he leaned forward he got a brief waft of Sherlock's scent and it made his chest warm. He really couldn't explain this attraction. He felt giddy for some reason. He asked what it was exactly that he had been given. Apparently it was something called a 'dirty hot chocolate.' He would never admit that he had watched Sherlock's mouth form the words and when he said dirty there was something so primal and sexual about it that made his palms itchy and his fingers flex. He must be incredibly frustrated because everything the man did had him fighting the urge to touch every inch of his long limbed body.

"You're pupils are dilated." Sherlock sounded amused.

"Erm, I think they're still adjusting to the lighting in here." It wasn't at all because he was aroused. And what decent person gets aroused over the name of a beverage? He really needed to get a grip.

Sherlock hummed as if he would accept the statement but didn't believe him. Of course. He was a detective for fuck's sake. John cleared his throat and looked away. He felt a bit warm suddenly. He shifted in the chair. Sherlock seemed content to stare at him. It was incredibly unnerving. John took his time admiring the decor in hopes that his signs of obvious interest would cease. It was both eerie and delightful. He stared at the fire place for a moment before remembering his pamphlets.

"Oh! I have something for you."

"Really?" Sherlock seemed surprised. Then again, they were practically strangers and he was about to give him something. That did warrant some surprise.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out about 10 different pamphlets. It may have been overkill but someone that attractive really shouldn't be 's really dreadful for the skin. He put them on the table and tapped them twice before puling back. He didn't want to risk touching Sherlock. He didn't think he could take it. At least, not without excusing himself to the toilet for a bit of relief.

"Pamphlets." Sherlock didn't sound amused.

"I've never met anyone who actually found them helpful but there's a first for everything I suppose."

"I don't smoke." Sherlock said leaning back in the chair and steepeling his fingers.

"Right, well you say that but I can smell it on you." He didn't say that the smell wasn't unpleasant.

Sherlock emitted a soft chuckle and it rumbled through the air. John bit back a groan. That sound was delicious. Far better than the drink he was now reaching for. He needed something else to focus on, something to hold. He took to the green mug with fervor. When he finally put the cup down again, he felt a bit more in control. He looked at Sherlock who was flipping through the pamphlets in a dismissing manner. Sherlock must have noticed the attention on him. He looked back at John. His eyes flickered down to John's lips and grew dark. There was fire behind them. John swallowed but did not look away.

"What?" He asked nervously.

Sherlock's legs uncrossed and he slid forward to the edge of his chair. John hadn't realized how close they really were until then. He rose from his seat, placed a hand on the table and leaned over it. He was incredibly imposing. His hand seemed to take possession of the table. His body loomed. "Um, Sherlock... what are you doing?" John's voice was a bit higher and tighter than he had expected. Sherlock leaned in, his breath wafting in warm waves over the skin of John's face. John took a moment to truly appreciate the icey color of his eyes and the high planes of his cheeks and the way each black curl was perfectly out of place. He couldn't help it when his gaze shifted to Sherlock's mouth. It was so very close... Then he felt pressure on his upper lip. Sherlock was brushing his thumb along the line of John's lip, just the very edge. Until he got to the center, then he felt the smooth pad drag down towards his bottom lip. Unconsciously, he licked his lips.

Sherlock pulled back slightly. John had a terribly good view of him now; imposing and hungry. He brought his thumb to his mouth and wrapped his lips around the appendage casually. John stuttered out a breath. His trousers were feeling a bit tight now. "You had a spot of cream." Sherlock said in a cool tone, as though he hadn't just done something incredibly lewd.

"Oh... that's... um, thank you." John said awkwardly.

Sherlock's face was passive. "Not a problem."

The time it took to finish his drink was spent mostly in silence. He asked the occasional question about Sherlock's detective work which was answered with vague statements. John expressed great awe and couldn't stop himself from complimenting him a bit too much. Sherlock seemed to preen under the attention. When John finished his drink he sat it on the table and moved to stand. He briefly saw Sherlock raise his hand and curl his index and middle finger as if beckoning someone. Sherlock stood and followed John to the door. John found it both alarming and welcome. He was putting on his jacket, already dreading the chill of the air outside. He turned to say good bye to Sherlock and Molly and was met with a pastry bag and a very tall, dark man in his space.

"You really don't have to..." He started to say but he was already taking the bag.

"I never do anything without reason." He said ambiguously. His hands reached up and turned the collar of John's coat up, letting his hands brush against the blond's neck. "I trust you won't take too long to wander back, John."

It wasn't until John felt the cold air on his cheeks that he realized he was blushing. Oh yes, he would most definitely be back soon. After all, he had still smelled smoke on Sherlock when he had turned his collar up. It was his goal now to get him to admit to smoking and to quit.

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Sexual tension! Some fun stuff is going to happen in the next chapter so stay tuned. Let me know what you think in the reviews!


	5. Chapter 5

I'm pretty satisfied with this chapter. I may change this from Smauglock to AU Johnlock.

Read. Rate. Review. Be jolly and enjoy cold carrots and cake.

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When John had gotten back to his apartment and broken into the bag of pastries he found a number written on a piece of paper. He flushed. Below the numbers, in perfectly imperfect script was an order to text him. He flushed. He was expected to text this man, unprompted and out of the blue? He felt anxiety rise in his chest. He wanted to and he didn't. He wasn't the type of person to send texts without need. However, the idea of furthering contact with the handsome detective was enough for him to add the number into his phone. He sat his phone down and fought a smile. He would indeed have to wander back soon.

Unfortunately the life of a medical student was far from free. His studying began taking up nearly all his time. On multiple occasions he had turned down Greg's invitations to take a break and socialize. He was at wits end. He was craving something sweet and warm and some peace of mind. His mind kept wandering back to The Dragon's Horde. His mouth pursed slightly as he considered packing his books up and taking them to the shop to study. At the very least, the change of atmosphere would be helpful. He wandered around his small flat while debating going. It had been two weeks since he had last visited. Too long, really. His mind wandered back to Sherlock's fingers on his lips and then those fingers being sucked clean. He took a deep, shaky breath to steady himself. It was decided in that moment.

He packed his books up and slung a jacket over his body. He considered brushing his hair but the blond curls were getting longer and unruly and he had no desire to deal with them. He ran a hand through them before grabbing his things and locking up behind him. He shivered when the wind his his face. He should have grabbed a scarf. Slowly but surely he made his way to the coffee shop. His cheeks were numb from the wind. He had tried unsuccessfully to hide them in the collar of his jacket before giving up and walking faster. He really should have gotten a taxi but funds were a bit tight at the moment. His short legs made quick work of the distance. He was standing before the heavy door before he knew it.

The door creaked open and once again heat wafted over him. He sighed happily. He went to the counter and Molly smiled sweetly at him. He ordered the dirty hot chocolate that Sherlock had made him last time and three cinnamon scones. Studying always went faster when he snacked. He thanked her after he pa. She pointed to a solid door in an alcove that led to a private study room.

The room itself was nothing special. It had dark walls and warm light, the same traces of gold and gem tones through out. There was a large solid wooden desk that looked entirely too large. It took up the span of the back wall. The chair that sat in front of it was a deep red and lush with a winged back. It was beautiful and mysterious. John dropped the overbearing weight of his bag and sank into the chair. He needed to start his course work but he couldn't help but wonder at not seeing Sherlock. He wished now that he had sent a text, that he had checked to see if he was there. He had foolishly assumed that Sherlock was always there.

There was a knock on the door. He rose to open it and found Molly standing there with a giant mug topped with cream and a plate with scones on a piece of parchment paper. He thanked her as he took them from her. She looked past him at his bag and asked if he was studying. He nodded and explained that he needed a change of pace or he was never going to pass his exam. She smiled in a silly, carefree manner that suited her all too well.

"It's a good idea to change scenery. Hopefully you'll be able to accomplish something here. The door is so heavy sound never makes it through. Sherlock comes in here when he's working on a case sometimes. He says people think too loudly and it distracts him." She began to trail off, clearly confused by his antics. She pressed her lips together and shrugged. She looked around. "I hope the lights aren't too low. Sherlock refuses to put brighter lights in the shop."

"No, no. It's great. It's kind of soothing. It should be fine. Thank you, though." He smiled. He looked back over at his bag. "Well, I better get to work. Thank you, Molly. You didn't have to bring these. I would have come to get them once I was all settled."

"Oh! It's no trouble," she said as she flushed. "I'll let you get back to the books. I may be of some assistance, if you need any help that is," she said hurriedly.

"Thanks. I'll try to keep that in mind." She turned to leave. "Oh, Molly?"

She turned her head, her ponytail swinging as she moved. "Yes?"

"Sherlock...he isn't around today?" He flushed as he asked. He was incredibly embarrassed to be asking. It wasn't really his business.

"I'm afraid not. He's out on a case. Something about robberies. The police are stumped."

His chest fell. Well, that was disappointing. But at least he wouldn't be wondering while he was trying to focus now. "Thanks again," he said before going back to the desk. He sat down the beverage and picked up a scone. He nibbled at it while he sat down and began placing his books on the table. An hour later his cup was empty, he had eaten two scones and he was hunched over a text book while his hand scratched notes onto a pad of paper. He was nibbling on a scone and mumbling to himself as he read.

"I wasn't expecting to see you."

John whipped his head around. Sherlock was leaned against the door jam, his long legs crossed and his hands tucked in the dark pockets of his trousers. He painted a stunning picture. His shirt was a deep shade of red and open at the collar. It made his exposed skin glow. His eyes looked hungry and appraising. John was struck once again by how imposing the detective was. John delighted in the way the light from the other room illuminated his back while the warm glow of the room touched the highest planes of his face.

"I wasn't expecting to see you either. Molly said you were out on a case," he said from the comfort of his chair.

"It was boring."

"So, you solved it then?" Sherlock gave him a look that said 'obviously'. "Right, of course you did." John said with a soft smile.

Sherlock stood upright and walked into the room. John watched hungrily. God, that man was beautiful. John barely noticed when the door was closed behind the detective and they were alone in the dark space of the room. John looked away from the man before him and back to his books. He had gotten a surprising amount of work done. He felt breath on the back of his neck and his spine went rigid. He turned his head to see Sherlock standing behind him, his head tilted as he scanned over John's work. His hands, which John would later fantasize about, were resting on the wings of the chair. He looked like a beast on his perch, looking down at something of no consequence.

"Sherlock?"

"John," his voice rumbled as his icy eyes locked with his own.

"Did-did you need something?" John swallowed as his eyes went to the detective's mouth.

"Not at all. I was curious as to what you was keeping you from texting me."

John did not register that words that were said. He was too busy watching Sherlock's mouth move. His mind wandered back to the raven sucking whipped cream from his thumb. John swallowed a moan. His throat felt dry and he licked his lips. Sherlock caught the movement. His lips spread into a beastly smirk. John looked away hurriedly. He was overwhelmed with his own desire to kiss the man. He cleared his throat nervously and was about to tell Sherlock that he should get back to studying when he felt fingers on his jaw. He looked back up at the detective and let out a soft whimper. The face before him was ravenous and full of intent.

"Uhmm..."

"You're attempts to conceal your desire are useless," Sherlock said, his warm breath wafting over John.

"I-I don't know what you mean," he stuttered out in denial.

Sherlock simply hummed. John didn't have the opportunity to continue his futile attempts to lie. His mouth was claimed.

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Things are heating up at last! Let me know what you think in the reviews :) Thanks for reading!


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